My Fight

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This war is endless—
just like this endless line of innocent people,
drafted to fight for something our country doesn’t want.

Endless, like the mud I march through
endless, like this thick green jungle
endless like the death count.

We are fighting for nothing;
we are dying for nothing.

Nothing, like what we are doing in this country;
nothing, like what has come out of this.

All that’s left is a pot of death and destruction,
a pot of agony and despair.

I fight for nothing but my own life.
I don’t fight for them.
I fight
to live.

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